The Boy Who Watched the Past

Our home stood where a cornfield once grew. Long ago, that field saw a great conflict, though the land was now quiet. I had heard the stories about our place but never believed them, not until my little sister came along. She was much younger than me, a surprise to our family.

She loved to watch her shows in our parents’ room, which was right at the top of the stairs. She always sat on the very end of the big bed, ready to hop off if she needed a snack.

One afternoon, I returned from my night job. The sun was high. I walked up the stairs to change. The door to my parents’ room was open, and I saw my sister sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on the screen. I didn’t say a word and went to my own room.

After I changed, I walked back downstairs. I stepped into the kitchen and stopped. There was my sister, sitting at the table, eating a sandwich with our mother. She had been down there for an hour, my mother said.